An Unlikely Daddy (11 page)

But her mind was already straying in a different direction. God, it had been so long since she'd been held like this, comforted like this. Not even knowing that Ryker was just another man full of secrets could change the way he was making her feel: cared for, protected, supported. She'd been alone and lonely for way too long.

She was also pregnant, and before long, leaning into him was making her lower back ache. She didn't want to pull away, but as the ache grew, she knew she had to.

It was almost as if he read her mind. He let go of her, gently eased her back onto the couch, then sat beside her, lifting her legs so his lap cradled them.

“Comfortable?” he asked as she leaned back against the armrest.

“Thanks.” It was the best she could manage when she felt as if her insides had been shredded. When Johnny had been in the Rangers, she'd had some idea of what he was doing. He was a soldier, and he went on dangerous missions. When he'd joined the State Department, she'd apparently built castles in the air that had nothing whatsoever to do with reality. Living proof now held her legs in his lap.

With strong hands he began to knead her lower legs through her fleece pants. It felt so good she couldn't have stopped him. Life seemed to be shattering and flying in a million directions, and from what he'd said, he was feeling much the same. What was going on here?

But she was growing awfully tired of unanswered and unanswerable questions.

“I'm sorry I don't have your answers,” he said a while later.

“That's not your fault, is it? I'm beginning to really get it.”

“In what way?” His hands continued their soothing motions.

“You don't know a whole lot more than I do. Oh, you know what
you
were doing but little else.”

He didn't answer immediately, then remarked, “We call it compartmentalizing. Need to know. Each little part is separate from all the other parts.”

That was probably the single most revealing thing he'd told her. “So you operate in the dark, too?”

“Much of the time. I know only what I need to.”

“Does that seem right to you?”

He turned, his dark eyes catching hers. “It used to.”

An interesting choice of phrase. She seized on it, hoping she wouldn't regret pressing him. “And now?”

“Now?” He looked away, still massaging her legs. “I don't know. Maybe there are too many widows like you who don't know the very things they should have a right to know. I couldn't tell you.”

“Because you don't know.”

“Exactly.” His hands paused, then resumed the massage. “It's part of what I've been thinking about, Marisa. I've lived most of my life in the shadows. Do I want to live the rest of it that way? Maybe die in the shadows the way John did? I don't know anymore. And maybe that's why John sent me here.”

“What do you mean? You said he loved his work.”

“He did. But maybe, like me, he was starting to have second thoughts. I don't know. Maybe he sensed I was having them. Maybe he just wanted me to stop and think about all I was missing. I couldn't read his mind then, and I sure as hell can't read it now. Regardless, he only asked me to check on you if something happened to him. He couldn't have known it would, so all the rest is just speculation and probably had nothing to do with it.”

But she sensed a change in him, a slight stiffening. She ran his words back through her mind and then said, her voice taut, her chest so tight she could scarcely force the words out, “He knew.”

His head turned sharply. “Knew?”

“Knew he was going to die.”

“Marisa...”

“I had a friend in high school. They were on a trip. She told her mother if she didn't go home immediately, she'd never go home again. The next day she drowned.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sometimes people know,” she whispered.

When Ryker didn't argue with her, she opened her eyes again. “You know it, too, don't you? That some people seem to know before...”

“I've seen it,” he admitted. “Not often, but I've seen it.”

“So when, exactly, did John make you promise to check on me?”

His voice was heavy when he answered. “Right after I got him the job.”

Marisa turned her head, looking out the window at the falling snow. The winter night had fully settled in, and the flakes glistened in the light from the street lamp and windows. She felt as if snow was falling inside her, too, frigid and cold. But like the flakes outside, the flakes inside were ephemeral, beautiful at first blush, but doomed to vanish at the first warmth.

She was thawing, she realized. She'd been frozen ever since she'd learned of Johnny's death. Now all her pretty little dreams and thoughts were melting, going the way those snowflakes would go eventually. Fleeting. Impermanent.

Her baby stirred, and she pressed her hands to the mound of her tummy. That was real, but was anything else? Her baby. All she had left of a marriage that had apparently been like a snowfall.

Ryker's hands paused on her legs. “Marisa?”

When she didn't answer, he moved. With astonishing ease, ungainly though she felt right then, he twisted and lifted her until he could settle her sideways on his lap. He wrapped both arms around her and just held her.

“I guess I was the wrong guy to send,” he said finally.

“Why?”

“Because we're both messed up. I'm no help at all.”

She thought about that, about the awakening happening inside her, about the baby that had just decided to become rambunctious, so much so that, without asking, Ryker loosened one of his arms and rested his hand on her belly.

“Hello, Jonni,” he murmured.

She looked down at his big hand pressed gently to her stomach. Life. Maybe most of it was ephemeral but not the little girl growing inside her.

With her head resting on Ryker's shoulder, she thought about the last time she'd seen Johnny. He'd been home for just over two months. When he'd kissed her goodbye and sworn he'd miss her every moment, she hadn't missed the excitement dancing in his gaze. He was glad to be off again. Going on another dangerous adventure. Unaware of the child he was leaving behind.

“Johnny,” she said slowly, “never settled down. Never. He never would. If he hadn't died...” Her voice caught, then steadied. “He wouldn't have been home for this,” she said. “He wouldn't have. I'd have gone through this entire pregnancy alone. Just the way I have. Until you arrived.”

“Marisa...”

“That's why he sent you. At some level he knew he wouldn't be here when I needed him most.”

She felt Ryker shake his head, but she knew it in the depths of her being. It was true. The baby was Johnny's legacy, but Ryker was his last gift. She didn't know what to make of that.

“He was doing important work,” Ryker offered.

“I'm sure. I never doubted that. But he lived to exist on the edge, Ryker. I knew that, too. What about you? Do you need to be on the edge all the time?”

He blew a long breath. “I think I just told you that's changing.”

“Yes, you did. But for how long? How real is it?”

He gently rubbed his hand over her belly. “As real as this child. My gut's saying so.”

“And then what?”

“I don't know,” he said frankly. “I told you that, too. I just know I've enjoyed hanging around this town for the last month. I thought I'd be bored, but I haven't been. Nice folks for the most part. I walk down the street without having to be on high alert. People are starting to greet me. I've had some casual conversations where I didn't have to guard every word. It's been like letting go of a suffocating weight.”

Her heart hurt as realization sank in. “I feel like I'm waking up from a bad dream that went on forever.” Her eyes burned, and she felt one tear roll down her cheek. “I spent most of my marriage missing Johnny. I can't do that again.”

“No one's asking you to.”

“I know. It's just...I wonder at myself. Why my perspective is changing so much. I thought I'd accepted the way things had to be. Not so much, I guess. I might have lived an illusion for years. But one thing I know for sure now...I loved him. Part of me will always love him, but I cannot do that again. I have a child to think of now, to care for. I need some permanence and stability. Johnny never would have provided that. So it's time to leave all that in the past. Time to look forward and plan. High time.”

Ryker lifted his hand and with a finger wiped away the one tear. “Don't give him up, Marisa. He loved you. Keep that part of him.”

“I'll never lose that.” She closed her eyes, dropped her head and placed her hand over Ryker's. “Nothing can take it away from me. But I'm through railing at the universe and hating life and all the rest of it. Johnny was a bright and beautiful addition to my life. But he wasn't all of it.” He hadn't been around enough to be all of it.

She lifted a hand and laid it on Ryker's chest. Through the flannel of his shirt she could feel heat and hard muscle. Reality.

“No one person,” he said slowly, “should be all of someone's life.”

“Probably not. I don't mean it as a criticism of Johnny. Like I said, I knew what it would be like. I'm just looking at myself and wondering how much longer I'm going to wallow in missing him. It seems almost like copping out.”

“To hell with that,” he said sharply. “The man you loved died. Whether he was around much before that hardly matters. This time he's not coming back. A bit weird, don't you think, to dismiss your grief because he wasn't around often? There's a huge difference between temporary and permanent.”

And therein resided a huge kernel of truth. Johnny would never come home, and she grieved for that. She grieved because she could no longer look forward to those amazing, bright spots of love that had filled her days when he was here. She had every right to miss him.

But it was dawning on her that she had every right to move on.

Chapter Eight

“I
t's almost Christmas,” Ryker remarked the next morning as they sat over coffee and the eggs he'd made for them.

“So?”

He glanced out the window at falling snow, then at her. “What did you do for Thanksgiving?”

“Stayed home.”

He arched a brow. “Really? I'm surprised. All those friends threw you a baby shower.”

“And all those friends asked me to join them for Thanksgiving. I said no.”

He studied her, drumming his fingers. “How come?”

“Do you really think I wanted to be surrounded by all their families and friends?”

Ryker studied her, beginning to understand something. He wondered if she had any idea how cute she looked with her hair still tousled from bed, wrapped in a pink terry-cloth robe over what appeared to be thermal underwear. Or how bright her almost-lavender eyes looked? Appealing in every way. “Explain,” he suggested gently.

“I would have just felt more alone. I can't explain it any better than that.”

She sounded a bit querulous now. He felt one corner of his mouth twitch upward. She was definitely shaking free of the paralysis that had been plaguing her when he arrived. Good. Time to tiptoe, though. He was aware that he felt uniquely exposed here, as if his long-protected and buried feelings were now running around out in the world and vulnerable. She was probably feeling the same.

“What did
you
do for Thanksgiving?” she demanded.

“Called my parents. And Maude makes a mean turkey dinner.”

“Hah,” she said. “Another loner.” Then, “Why didn't you go visit your parents?”

“They don't expect me anymore, and...” Did he really want to tell her this? “Frankly, I don't feel comfortable with them. It would have been three or four days of being badgered about the way I live.”

Marisa concerned him more. She was truly out of sorts this morning, maybe not surprising, given the thoughts she'd expressed last night, but he had no idea how to soothe her. Damn, he was getting too involved here. Why should he care that she was having a mood? Why should he feel he needed to do something about it? But he did. He just had to feel his way into it. He poured himself another coffee and returned to the table, pondering.

He asked, “Was John home last Christmas?”

“No. He came in February.”

“Well, I wasn't home last Christmas either, just like Thanksgiving. In fact, it's been years since I was anywhere near Christmas.”

“So?”

He hesitated, then jumped in with both feet. What the hell? He'd been tongue-lashed before. “I want to ask a favor.”

She almost scowled at him. “What?”

“Can I get a tree? Some trimmings? Would you mind?”

Some of the irritability vanished from her face. Her mouth opened a bit. “For you, you mean?”

“Yeah. For me.” But not just for him. No way. He knew loneliness intimately, and he figured this woman had had her share and then some.

“I have an artificial tree in the attic. Decorations. Help yourself.”

“I was thinking of a real tree, unless you object. The scent of pine. God, I love that.” He waited. He was proposing to celebrate a holiday in her house, and he'd just dismissed her usual decorations for something entirely different. He knew he needed a change. He wondered if she was ready to really make one.

So much to hang on one Christmas tree, he thought with self-amusement.

“Sure,” she said after a minute. “Go ahead.”

“Want to tell me where to put it? And better yet, help me pick it out? It's going to be in your house, after all.”

Her lips curved, but the smile didn't appear especially amused. “What are you trying to do, Ryker?”

“Change up my life. God knows it needs changing. The last time I decorated a Christmas tree was nearly twenty years ago. In a forward base in the middle of nowhere. This scrawny thing we decorated with whatever crap we could find lying around.”

She continued to regard him, apparently thinking. Slowly, she relaxed a bit. “Sure,” she said finally. “Go ahead. Just don't expect me to get all into it.”

“This tree's for me,” he reminded her. “If you want your own, I'll get it out of your attic.”

That worked. A laugh escaped her, a genuine one. “You are too much,” she told him. “One tree is plenty. Yours will be plenty.”

And maybe it would help put a different complexion on things for both of them. He'd just have to wait and see.

“Whenever you're ready to bundle up,” he said, offering a smile. “Dang, I'm getting excited.”

“About Christmas?” She laughed again. “Still a kid inside?”

“I think the kid inside me has been locked away for too long.”

Her face softened, and she surprised him by reaching across the table for his hand. “Then, let's let the kid out.”

* * *

She insisted on doing the dishes, so while she cleaned up and dressed to go out, he shoveled the fresh snowfall off her steps and sidewalks. Only a few inches of light and fluffy stuff made it easy. Then he salted every place she might have to walk, brushed off his car and started it to warm it up.

Other people were out shoveling, too, and he liked the way they waved to him, as if he were part of the neighborhood now. Friendly folks. He'd been running into that everywhere. Quite a change from his past.

Streets he could walk without feeling exposed. People with nothing deadly to hide. Something inside him was uncoiling in response, and only as he began to relax into his new environment did he realize how long it had been since he'd simply felt comfortable in any environment.

Yeah, they gave him decompression time after every mission, but looking back now he could easily see that he had never fully decompressed. Too afraid of losing his edge.

Here, somehow, that didn't seem important. He might be making a big mistake, but he didn't care. Life had finally delivered him a small measure of peace, and he made up his mind to enjoy it.

Once he had Marisa safely bundled into his car, he drove them toward a tree lot he'd seen yesterday on the edge of town. Even though Thanksgiving had passed, it had still appeared to have quite a few decent trees in it. A mental checklist began to run of all the other things he'd need to get, from a tree stand to some ornaments. Maybe some lights for outside?

It would depend, he decided, on Marisa's reactions. If she seemed to be enjoying herself, he'd go whole hog on it.

Although it had been plowed, the parking around the tree lot was still covered with snow. No one else was there this morning, except for an older man inside a little hut with a propane space heater. With Marisa's arm firmly tucked in his for support, they began to walk around the narrow paths in the small lot.

“Any particular kind of tree you favor?” he asked her.

“This is your tree.”

“I'm kinda out of practice. I'm just asking what you think is pretty.”

She glanced at him with a smile. “I like the long-needled ones because they look full. On the other hand, the short-needled ones are sparser-looking but can hold a lot more decorations.”

“Some help you are.”

She laughed, and he soaked up the sound. “How high are your ceilings?” He figured close to ten feet. It was an older house.

“High enough. The thing is, we can't get a humongous tree unless you want to move furniture onto the front porch.”

“Good point. I guess I shouldn't go overboard.”

“Just saying.” Then she laughed again. She was enjoying this. He could have given himself a pat on the back.

“I never went tree shopping with Johnny.”

He almost froze, then caught himself. “Never?” The thought that she'd had to deal with holidays on her own struck him for the first time. Of course she had an artificial tree in the attic. He'd almost have bet that some years she didn't even get it down.

Cripes. They strolled a little farther, then he heard Marisa draw a sharp breath. At once he stopped and turned to her. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” She was staring past him, so he looked and saw the tree that held her attention. In an instant it became The Tree.

“You like that one?”

“I've always loved blue spruce. I've never had one for a Christmas tree.”

He studied it. Six feet tall, thick foliage and surprisingly blue compared to the trees around it. “That's wild. I like it.”

“Are you sure?”

He'd been sure since he'd seen the sparkle in her eyes. He didn't care if it was full all the way around, or anything else. If it had bare spots, they had plenty of walls to hide them against. Glancing around, he saw no others of its kind.

“Okay, let's get you back to the car, then I'll help the guy load it up.”

She hesitated. “Don't do this for me.”

“Did I say I was? I like it, too. It's different.”

He was glad she didn't argue. He understood that she wanted to think this was all about him, and to some extent it was. He didn't want to be pushed into a corner where he had to admit he was doing this mostly for her, to break a cycle, because he was nearly certain that would make her uneasy.

But it was time, with the baby's arrival so near, for this woman to find some happiness in life again.

* * *

By that evening, Ryker had the tree standing in the corner of the living room and was stringing it with multicolored lights. Marisa sat with her feet up, watching him and thinking that he finally looked relaxed and content.

If she were to be honest, she was feeling pretty relaxed and content herself. Her baby stirred comfortably in her womb, a Christmas tree was happening right before her eyes, and she spared only a few minutes to think about how she had missed doing this with Johnny. Only once in their marriage had he been home to participate in this. But then she let go of the regret and gave herself over to enjoying Ryker. As he handled the strings of lights, he even taught her a few new cusswords that made her giggle.

“I forgot this was the miserable part,” he said at one point. “Sorry.”

“No apologies. I'm having too much fun watching.”

He pretended to scowl at her as he wound the light strands around the tree. “I hope all the same colors don't wind up in one place.”

“You got a problem with blotches?”

“Not unless it means I have to do this all over again.”

She laughed again. On one of his trips out for ornaments, he'd brought home dinner again, so she didn't even need to cook. She was beginning to feel like a lady of leisure.

He flashed a smile at her. “You're enjoying watching a tree torture me, huh?”

“Believe it.”

On the floor lay boxes of ornaments he'd purchased. She liked their bright colors but was surprised he hadn't purchased any glass ones. Was he thinking of the baby to come? Most were brass or decorated foam, pretty indestructible. Or maybe that was just the way he thought.

“Want some coffee?” she asked.

He left the light strand dangling. “I'll get it. I need a break. I am at war with this tree. You want anything?”

“Milk would be nice. I thought you were going to have fun with this.”

“I will, once I get the lights on.”

“There's something to be said for fiber-optic trees,” she called after him.

“Bah, humbug,” he called back, causing her to giggle again.

He was right about the scent of a real tree, though, she thought as she leaned her head back and looked at the corner of her living room where he was installing it. The tree smelled wonderful, carrying her back to happier times, to memories of childhood excitement.

He returned shortly with his coffee and her milk. She held her glass perched on her belly. Like having a handy shelf, she thought wryly. “So,” she asked, “did you get excited about Christmas when you were a kid?”

“Believe it.” He sat on the edge of the couch, mug in hand, smiling. “There were times I had trouble sleeping, and not only when I was little.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “My excitement always started ratcheting with the first snowfall. I could feel magic in the air. I remember when I was fifteen and too excited to sleep, and telling myself that was ridiculous for someone of my age. That was for the little kids. Didn't work.”

He chuckled. “I wasn't any better. My sister, however, was a pain. Somehow she slept. Worse, she slept in. I had diabolical ways of waking her up when I got too impatient.”

“I had to wait in my bedroom until my folks put on some Christmas music. They always wanted to make coffee before they unleashed me. Mom left a stocking on the door, though.”

“You, too? But that stocking didn't tamp my impatience for very long. I used to think there had to be something wrong with my sister. How in the world could she sleep in on Christmas morning? Even when she was young. What five-year-old does that?”

“Your sister?” she suggested.

He laughed. “Apparently so.”

She was enjoying seeing this side of him. He looked younger than when he'd arrived, and for the first time, she didn't feel like she was sharing quarters with a cat that was always poised to pounce. Right now he was very comfortable to share space with.

And sexy as hell, she thought with no guilt. As he sat there in his plain blue flannel shirt and jeans, elbows resting on splayed knees, she felt the sizzle, felt the longing...and he wasn't even doing anything to encourage it. What was it about him? The man in him seemed to call effortlessly to the woman in her.

She remembered the feeling of his arms around her, and admitted that the simple hug had filled an aching hole deep within her. She wanted more hugs, and as she watched him resume hanging the lights, she acknowledged that she wanted a whole lot more than that. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands over that hard body, to discover his contours. To feel his hands running over her skin, everywhere, touching places that hadn't been touched in so long. She wanted him to fill all her senses until she thought of nothing else.